ｃｏｌｏｒｓ  ｏｆ  Ｎａｍｉｎｅ
by Dilavri
Summary: Naminé tried so hard to be an angel, she forgot Lucifer was once one. ［ａｕ］[Naminé centric]［ｄｒａｂｂｌｅ？］ review?


colors of Naminé

White. It is the color of her dress that sometimes was stained with water colors. She would often be scolded for it, saying she needs to stop with her pathetic, horrible little world. Yet she would never listen. She never did. Brushing her comments, the girl smiled and sketched the organization members that complained with a rope tied on their necks. _Only the ones who scolded her for the stained dress, though._

White. It is the color of her skin— number VIII, IX, XIII and XIV thought her skin was an awful, sickening pale color, constantly reminding her if she ate something this morning. She only responded with a light shake of her head. But her flesh was not always white; sometimes she had droplets of blood, mainly from strangers that got in the mansion. She reminded this to the members, making them cringe and wrinkle their noses in disgusts (except number VIII.) _She didn't mean to disgust them, wasn't it normal already?_

White. It is the color of her sketchpad. Still, not only was it completely white, it had mixtures of colors; pastels, acrylics, oil painting… Playing with them was the best part of her day. No one dared to talk to her when she was drawing, except that obnoxious nymph that wouldn't leave her alone. The thought of sticking a paint brush on her stomach was beginning to be tempting. But, _how fun could that be if she died so quickly?_

White. It is the color of the walls. A lifeless white color, though. Noticing this, she tried more than once to paint a colorful mural full of her thoughts, but that red head would always get on the way. Not only was he assigned to watch over the porcelain doll, but was he forced to manipulate her? Of course not. She would always be a step ahead of him. _That one Saturday morning, not only was the wall painted and scratched, but he was drawn on it with a horrible crimson color as her revenge._

White. It is the color of her bed. White sheets and blankets that were wrinkled when she got up at 3:12 a.m. Her insomnia would never leave her alone, yet she enjoyed the restless nights for some reasons. Only getting four hours of sleep was more than plenty for the young girl, acting like she slept the full night without problems. _However, that red head (oh, how he loved spying) always knew what she had to deal with._

White. It is the color of her memories, as she liked to put it. How _dare_ she say she was innocent? Number VIII, also known as flurry of dancing flames, asked himself every day. Her memories were nothing but white, yet she insisted the color was the perfect one to describe them. She was so stubborn with the topic that no one bothered to tell her otherwise. _She would snap if they did._

White. It is the color of her favorite coffee mug. She always drank some in the mornings, her favorite being black coffee. The sea-salt trio seemed to be concerned for her health, so when they asked if she could stop, number VIII ended up holding her while the other two fled. He questioned why was she so aggressive, only to receive a loud screech. _They never tried to help her addiction again, afraid of getting a worse ending._

White. It is the color of her soul. She always tried to convince everyone she was innocent, the white representing the chastity. Perhaps if it didn't sound as if she was still trying to believe it herself, the members would fall for her act. Acting like an angel was not going anywhere— for some reason no one would call her like that. _She swore she fell from heaven, though._

**Red. **It is the color she despised so much. She couldn't stand it, yet at the same time it felt she had that color splattered, no, _tattooed_ on her skin. After coming to this realization, she yelled and broke her art utensils. When she failed cutting Axel's hair at midnight, she panicked and anxiety began to overtake her. A high pitched shriek woke everyone up, holding her down and making her swallow some disgusting pills so she could fall asleep. _They just had to wait._

_**Red. **_It is the color of the blood. Using a sharp, long knife, she managed to bruise number VIII. He _kept getting on her way_. To her dismay, the melodious nocturne was unfortunately walking through the halls when he heard the commotion. There was _something_ on the color of his blood that calmed her down, oddly enough. _There was something on __**him **__that triggered her, yet sometimes made her feel tranquil._

_**RED.**_ It is the color of the roses. When asked if she liked red roses, the poor angel snapped and ripped the page she was painting on. No member asked again since the rumors where flowing as quickly as her tears. The red head, being the tedious young man he is, surprised her with rose petals all over her. To his _**own**_ surprise, she broke into tears and clung on his shirt as if her life depended on it. _At last, he spent the night comforting her._

White. It is the color of her dress that sometimes was stained with a scarlet color. A crimson color she couldn't _quite_ recognize. It kept flowing from her chest non-stop as she walked through the halls in search of the clock-tower trio. The younger ones gasped in horror and yelled for help as the older one of the trio swept her off her feet. _What if being carried was what she needed?_

White. It is the color of her skin. After being touched by someone, it left a weird sensation on her. It stung badly, but found herself longing for more. She wanted someone to brush their fingers on her skin— on her cheeks, her jawline, her neck, her shoulders… His gloved fingertips burnt on her, giving her a small cut on her lips. _Being touched aimlessly felt perfect._

She pleaded for her wings to be white, yet they were already covered in red. Scrubbing and praying was not removing the scarlet color, not at all.

* * *

**I've always liked to imagine Naminé trying to escape from her mistakes and true self. There's more on her than just a pretty face, I believe. Just press the right button and it'll surely come out. **

**gotta move on**

**review, maybe?**


End file.
